


Bedtime Stories

by Jinjo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: & Will Update Rating If Need Be W/ New Chapters C:, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Other Overwatch Characters Throughout, Other, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Young Fareeha "Pharah" Amari
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9395696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinjo/pseuds/Jinjo
Summary: A series of short vignettes surrounding Ana Amari and Reinhardt Wilhelm. Reinhardt has answered Winston's Recall, while Ana has continued her bounty hunting work after making her status known to her daughter and the core members of Overwatch. With their lives once again at a turning point, they rekindle a relationship and support each other when they can steal an evening or morning for themselves.





	1. Chapter 1

Two early birds, snoozing into the early afternoon. It’s an exceptionally rare sight to spot the two together before dawn in the cozy London flat. Tucked away not far from the revitalized London base, the private spot enjoys relative obscurity and proximity to Overwatch affairs. Not to mention a fair bout of bounties for a freelance agent to collect in the vicinity. The Shrike, ever alert, stirs first.

 

Reinhardt rests on his stomach, Ana slung gently over him with an arm tucked under her and the other softly kneading against his shoulderblade. It could be any season – the warmth between the two is enough to counterbalance London’s grey morning. Their flat is modern, simple. White linens sheets and curtains catching the sun, the timer of an electic kettle clicking a mechanical reminder in the next room.

 

She gently slides an arm down the enormous, bronzed back of her companion, hand coming to rest under her chin. The other adjusts the strap on her nightgown, and she turns to face the ceiling. It’s streaked with light filtering through the curtains, and coming to her senses she takes a deep breath in and clears the fog from her mind. Having had an unusually dreamless, restful sleep (Reinhardt’s presence has that effect), Ana immediately begins to stir. She has a habit of waking up in darkness, quick preparations and a shower, tea, meditation – then off to whatever bounty she’s laid out. The unusual change of pace has her curiously alert but hesitant, deciding whether or not to remain within the warmth of the sheets or acquiesce to the occasional chimes of her tea kettle.

 

But, no sooner does she shift onto her back to rise does Reinhardt’s chest rise and fall heavily, his arm curling and outstretching in awakening. The entirety of his torso slips out of the bedsheets and the whole bed rocks as he shifts his position to boot. Reinhardt is laying on his side now, facing her. The map of his scars catch the light – Ana’s eye wanders over them, and when their eyes meet he’s beaming. Stopped in her tracks.

 

“Du bist wunderschön,” He sighs, his voice a gravel rumble from an evening of sleep. His face is alight with even the dim morning sun, his hair sticking up at funny angles. When he goes to touch Ana’s face, it’s too much – she chuckles from the sensation of his mussed beard on her cheek, his kiss against her skin. “Reinhardt. Mein Löwe.” Fingernails card through his facial hair, and he doesn’t pull back.

 

Ana’s eyes crinkle as she bites her lip to stifle her laughter. Reinhardt is planting kisses down her neck and she turns to give him one on his forehead. He looks up as though he’s been surprised by a blessing, and Ana smacks him on the bare chest for it. They glow. Reinhardt pulls his mountain of pillows behind him and rests back at last, folding his hands across his chest. At this moment, Ana has a nearly impossible decision to make.

 

She pulls down the covers to her waist and rises, meeting Reinhardt’s impressive altitude propped up at her full sitting height. As Ana smooths down the skirt of her gown and loops both arms around her knees, Reinhardt watches her adjustment. The feeling of the room has somehow shifted, cooled a few degrees. A fleeting glance out the window does not go unnoticed.

 

“You are thinking of going.” He states. It’s that tone he makes that’s gentle, only as accusatory as it is filled with hurt – he’s perfected it over the years. Ana takes a breath out, adjusts the broad waves of her hair that still clings to the waves of her undone braid. The real world has begun to seep into the sleepy haven.

 

“I was.” She responds.

 

Ana straightens, feels the creak in her back, and avoids his gaze in preference of the ceiling. Time would not slow for this moment, as hazy and heavenly as it is. For Ana, and for Reinhardt, life barreled on even through old age. Even for Jack, for Torbjörn. Gabriel… She closes her good eye, tightens the grip on her knees. She has rendezvous with a vigilante concerning an international terrorist organization. She is aware of a fledgling team of new and old Overwatch agents, suddenly emerging into budding criminality in the name of her old tenets. And Fareeha…

 

“Ana.”

 

She starts slightly as a calloused hand brushes against her shoulder - Reinhardt is there. His look is apologetic. He understands. There’s not enough time.

 

A sideways glance at the bedside clock, and the sniper whisks her hair behind her ears. All of this, and the knight is not so eager to get back into the fight? Reinhardt’s forced retirement came so soon after her disappearance that she often forgot the years he was forced to spend dormant. Someone like Reinhardt did not settle down so easily. Not even for a lazy afternoon. The epiphany makes the corners of Ana’s mouth turn, her posture shifting and relaxing. She leans back into Reinhardt’s arms, turns her head up to kiss his rough jawline and relax in his embrace. She can indulge herself at least this once. Even with that thought, she has to consciously release the tension from her body. Shoulders roll back, and her weight falls all onto her partner who wraps her up. Her eyes flutter shut, smoky voice compelling Reinhardt to hold his breath.

 

“I want to stay.”


	2. Chapter 2

Routine is dangerous these days for wanted bounty hunters and Overwatch agents working under the Petras Act. Settling into a pattern for either the knight or the shrike meant swift triangulation of their selected location. A hasty search would not pin the two, but an overenthusiastic government official or a Talon operative – yes, there was vulnerability in consistency. Ana was simply glad that her inflated bounty was greater than that of her partner’s, considering how comparatively easy it was for her to blend into the crowd. Reinhardt, on the other hand, was as obvious a sight as the looming statue of the late Tekhartha Mondatta erected in the middle of King’s Row. It is not often the two walk together, but thankfully tonight is an exception.

A coat of night and thick rainfall make for a romantic rendezvous, if not a convenient one. Reinhardt’s silhouette is unmistakable in the rain, a ghostly image waiting silently for the latest running bus at the abandoned stop. He’s holding an umbrella, perfect for his proportions but still humorously overlarge for anyone a foot shorter, and the rhythmic tapping on its wet black fabric is making his eyelids droop. His hand is protectively balled into the pocket of his peacoat. Shoulders tense as the headlights of the bus shift around the corner, illuminating droplets and creating an odd fluorescent display of the lonely night. Reinhardt shifts, expectant as the door releases and a single shadow of a person drifts through the aisle and out the door with a nod to the driver. Even as they descend the stairs the knight is there with umbrella held high, his shield against the elements.

“Thank you,” comes a soft voice from under the shelter of the umbrella. He feels a hand to his chest in passing and smiles. His partner is dressed with a black bob, plain skirt and jacket and dark headscarf – a large duffel bag is slung over her shoulder. Reinhardt, of course, insists that he takes her bag, insists that he kisses her primly once on the cheek once they’re out of earshot and the blurry incandescence of the bus has faded completely. Ana can no longer stifle her laughter. “Reinhardt, I’ve only been gone a week.”

Reinhardt smiles broadly and brushes it off. “Forgive me. It feels like you’ve been gone forever, liebling.” The two both seem to exhale. There’s some awkwardness to every meeting. Unknowing, weariness. There’s always been fear, of course, but it’s been tempered by years and years of routine. Dangerous routine. She nudges his arm with hers, their palms brushing under a light pole’s haze. They walk in sync. Slowly unraveling into a familiar pace and rhythm. Unwinding. In only a week she’s hidden, tracked, hunted. Met with 76 again. Reinhardt doesn’t know.

“How was your mission – er … Your job?” Reinhardt corrects himself. The question is soft but prompt to break the silence, which the man is never quite comfortable in. Ever active, mind ever working and mouth rushing along with it. Ana adjusts the sleeves of her jacket and is reminded of the soreness in her joints.

“Eventful. I’m about to collect on some smaller payments across the pond, as they say. But – I’m sure you know – some trouble is brewing. I need to decide whether to stay out of it or meddle.” She smiles, and though her answer is decidedly cryptic, years of working with the former second-in-command has ingrained certain trust in Reinhardt. “Nothing you and the young recruits aren’t aware of. Just considering taking my own angle on the whole thing, but – I’m only one very capable woman.”

That elicits a chuckle from Reinhardt, and before he can continue she puts her hand up to punctuate her thought. “And before you ask, Wilhelm, I’m not answering the recall.” It cuts him a bit short, and he sighs – perhaps a little too dramatically for their late night stroll. The two walk silently the rest of the way to the flat. When they enter, the weight of King’s Row immediately sheds with their heavy coats.

“How are the bright young stars of Overwatch?” The corners of Ana’s mouth quirk. There’s that familiar glimmer. She sheds her outer layers and removes her headscarf to get to the wig underneath. Reinhardt has moved over to the tiny kitchen area, resting on one of three total white wooden chairs with a resounding creak. He’s pulling off his boots, big fingers caught in the oppressive laces.

“Ahh… They are enthusiastic! Ready to get back into the fight!” His announcement is practically a bellow. “Young Winston and Tracer were already setting up back at the old Gibraltar Watchpoint before London was reclaimed. They are quite the pair. Let’s see…”

Ana can’t help but smile. Perhaps they were too optimistic, but Winston and Tracer were undoubtedly the first hopes of a new era. Of course they would spring into action. After pulling off his boots, Reinhardt scratches his beard in thought. He goes to roll off his socks, scratching his ankles as he does so. “Genji Shimada responded to the recall, as well. Surprising, since he left Overwatch before, the, ah…” Reinhardt clears his throat and folds his socks over each other idly. “And he’s bringing a new recruit with him, an omnic.”

“Really?” Ana’s carefully extracting the black bob from her head. She feels the crown of her head for leftover pins and hustles out of the room to place it back on a stand. The result of her extended travel means that a shower is absolutely necessary. Ana wrinkles her nose trying to re-arrange her flattened, starchy hair into a somewhat appealing position and eventually gives up.

“Yes, a Nepali monk. Apparently he’s done some soul searching. He did sound very… Relaxed on the call.” He mused. Reinhardt removes himself from the kitchen (another sigh from the kitchen chair) and follows Ana into the shared bedroom. She’s dressed down to a blouse and long skirt – sitting on the bed and fiddling with the buckles on her shoes.

“I told him he needed to meditate, didn’t I, Reinhardt? I told him to take his medicine, too, but what do I know? Maybe we should move to the tallest mountains so kids will listen to us. What else?”

She kicks off her shoes and rolls down her nylons. Looking up, she catches Reinhardt’s eye watching her and spots the dip of his throat as he swallows. Caught staring. He looks away, feigning deep thought.

“Mei Ling Zhou – if you recall, she was the scientist who survived that horrible Antarctica accident—“

“Oh, yes, I do… Poor dear.” Ana shakes her head.

“Winston reached out to her – she’s been working on her own to do some international research.”

“Ah, I’m glad. She seemed so sweet.” 

“Angela may be back if Winston can convince her. We’ll see. He isn’t as experienced or authoritative as Jack, but he’s… Very persuasive. You would be surprised, Ana. At first you see his – well, fur – and then his brilliant mind and then – realize he has the heart of a Crusader! He is fine as a leader for now, but…” Reinhardt makes himself busy rooting around in the tight closet they share – and Ana enjoys the view now. As he pulls off and discards his shirt, she hums. Reinhardt’s muscular, scarred back catches the light.

“You still don’t understand him. It will take time. Don’t cause trouble with the scientist, you hear?”

“Of course. If anyone will, it’s – ah! I didn’t tell you. Torby contacted me. Again… We’ll see.” His shoulders drop. He reaches back to knead at the base of his neck with a hand, and immediately Ana droops as well. She sits back in the bed, crossing one leg under her knee and gaze drifting downward.

“Torbjörn,” she repeats. Ana looks up to trace Reinhardt’s reaction. At first he seems resistant to even turn, but when he does she sees the lines in his face. “Reinhardt, come here.”

He acquiesces, breathing out in one steady stream and sits next to her. “If I answered the call, and if you’re still working… I suppose it’s to be expected. It’d be just like old times, I just...”

Ana grasps his hand at this, swivels towards him. Her other hand meets his rough cheek, gently pressing down on hot skin. “These are difficult times. It’s not an easy decision for anyone. It’s his choice, after all. Torb has never been one to back down. Stubborn man.”

“Don’t you think…” Reinhardt begins. He finds it suddenly hard to finish. Instead, he pushes his cheek further into Ana’s embrace and squeezes her hand in his. “His kids – I don’t want them to be without their father.”

There it is. Ana cannot brace herself for the inevitable, and she stiffens. She removes her hand from Reinhardt’s cheek and wraps it as far around his shoulder as it can go, pulling him in. His breath is short. 

“You know I had to make decisions during the Crisis.” She rubbed circles on his hand with her thumb. Her voice vibrated against his cheek, warm air and warm words. “Fareeha was a baby when we formed Overwatch. When the world was chaos.” The space between them was minimal, but the gap was still closing.

The whole of the strike team suffered losses, strife and pain during the Crisis that would never dissipate. Secrets kept were still uncovered. And those that were unearthed had a way of impacting their lives far after the first Omnic Crisis. Ana’s daughter – among her closest friends and the world at large – were convinced she was dead for six years. Reinhardt was by far the most accepting of her choice upon her return (save for Jack Morrison, who had no room to mouth off given his position). Fareeha was another story entirely. But she had always been strong-willed, like her mother.

“We do what we must… To protect the ones we love. For me, I had to ensure that Fareeha could grow up in this world. I had to ensure her future, but… I didn’t want it to be my own. I am so proud of her now.” She wraps up Reinhardt’s hand in both of hers now, pressing her forehead to his neck as she kneads at his palm. “I’ve not always made decisions I would make now. But, I don’t have regrets. We do what we can do. It’s up to him, darling.”

“I understand.” Reinhardt replies quietly, covering Ana’s hands with his other. He leans back and plants a kiss on her forehead, closing his eyes. “I suppose you would know as well as anyone, Ana. You are incredible.” A small smile spreads, and it catches to his partner.

“Torbjörn’s sweetheart is the incredible one. All of those children… He’s practically building an army.”

To this, Ana and Reinhardt jolt. They sit up straight as boards, looking at each other in stunned silence. Ana puts a hand up to her mouth, eye wide and expression in utter shock at her verbal slip. Reinhardt is the first to break. Raucous laughter lifts the heavy mood and fills the flat like firelight. The two cackle until they’re silly, Ana flopping on her back on the bed and dragging Reinhardt down with her.

“Ohh, Torby, I apologize for Ana. I truly do!” Reinhardt wipes a tear from his good eye as Ana whaps him across the chest with an open hand. They both come out of their reverie as Ana clutches her stomach with a sigh.

“Reinhardt, I haven’t laughed like that in… A week.” She muses. She rolls up onto the edge of the bed, turning to look at him fondly. “If you’re still worried about him… Times are uncertain, but the world is a better place than it was when Fareeha was growing up. And even so, maybe he can’t quite settle down yet, but I have no doubt you’ll be there to protect him. Like always.” Her smile radiates, crinkling the corners of her eyes. She ends up brushing past her hair again and bristles – it’s a realization that showering can no longer wait.

Ana coos as she stands up from the bed, looking down at the prone man underneath her. “You know, back in the day I was under the impression that I wouldn’t get my shot with you, with how inseparable you two were. If I’d known you’d have been interested, I might have reconsidered.”

Reinhardt looks up with curiosity. “Reconsidered?” Ana raises her eyebrows and stalls in the door frame on the way to the bathroom.

“Reconsidered not trying for any more children. Just a thought.” Her smirk has him flushing before she can even shut the bathroom door, and as soon as she’s out of sight he covers his red face with his hands. Reinhardt sighs, lays out flat on the bed. Knocked out. What a night. What a woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! I hope you enjoy this second chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3! A little heavy on this one, I hope you enjoy. Thank you for the kind feedback!
> 
> (Note that this chapter contains elements of PTSD.)

She always returns to Egypt.

Ana is an angular shadow on the bed, lit by the cold glow of a handheld tablet. Her silver hair curtains a terse expression while her quivering fingers pull strands behind her ear and cover her tightly drawn mouth. With resolve, she absorbs for the fifth time the words that have materialized on her screen. The call is to Egypt. She was never one for retirement – even the occasional bounty keeps the Shrike vital, and she prefers it that way – but this is different. The intelligence is overwhelming, the flight a few hours. The length of stay? Undetermined. 76 is not a man to leave a job unfinished. She should have known a stable routine with Wilhelm at her side was… Unrealistic, to say the least. Perplexing.

The device beeps as it powers down. Ana slides it onto her nightstand, resting her back against the pillows that she’s propped up. Perhaps Jack would say she was getting too old for this. But of all people, she was paired with the indomitable Reinhardt – if he was in her place, he would be out the door immediately, airfare be damned. The Crusader always persists. Perhaps it’s the unapologetic boldness that Overwatch was founded on that feels so close to home. It practically runs in Reinhardt’s blood. The thought makes a wry smile crack against her face. He should be back soon. She runs the back of her hand across her forehead to ease the fog in the forefront of her mind, and suddenly a noise makes her jerk into complete vigilance. She instinctively reaches for a rifle that isn’t there, hops out of bed, rushes to the window. Reinhardt.

\--

“Get back! You bastards!”

He’s howling in the street, dangerously close to running into the road, looking fearsome. Frightened. The breath is caught in Ana’s throat and that tearful tension crawls into her gut that comes with the realization of knowing exactly what she’s looking at. The old soldier practically vaults out the door, clutching her nightgown at her knees so she doesn’t trip over herself on her way to the aid of the Crusader. Out the door and into the darkness of the evening, where the formidable form of Reinhardt stands quaking, flailing under the spotlight of a street lamp. The air seems dense, smothering – it fills her nose as soon as she steps onto the sidewalk. Ana has a moment of hesitation: this has happened before, but nowhere near as public. Their cover is gone, she knows, and witnesses a few passerbys stall, stop, and stare.

“Reinhardt…” Ana steels herself. She’s out in the open just as much as he now. The best the both of them can do is slip back inside with little incident and – damnit, even if she were to dart the man she’d have to carry him herself. He’d be walking himself back inside no matter what.

He doesn’t respond – his back is to her. Hackles raised, muscular back quivering. No good. Ana looks to see who Reinhardt is facing off against, and there’s no one, but whether or not there’s a threat isn’t important now. She steps into the road to give him a wide berth, seeing for the first time his expression. His stance is wide, hands in fists – almost as though he’s ready to swing a hammer that isn’t there. He’s looking skyward, chest heaving and muscles bulging. The veins in his neck are shockingly prominent. There are ghosts somewhere in the sky, somewhere on the rooftops. She is prepared to dispel them. Ana takes a deep breath.

“Reinhardt—“

“Captain! What are you doing? Take cover!” He roars, red in the face. Ana’s heart sinks as her fears are realized in front of her. She forces her shoulders to relax. Her arms drop to her sides. No use in modesty this evening; the more Reinhardt can see of her, the more he can see that there are no fatigues, no weapons. Just an old woman on a lonely street in a nightgown, and a lost old warrior without a battle to fight. An active Reinhardt is dangerous, however. She walks from the road onto the sidewalk a ways away from him, illuminated now under an adjacent street light. Her hair glows under the luminescence, flyaways and frizz making her look no less angelic. She raises a hand to him. Voice low, manner temperate.

“Sweetheart. Liebling. We’re safe. You’re safe, Reinhardt. Please, look at me. It’s 2076. Are you having a flashback?”

“W-what?” Reinhardt seems nothing but confused. His knuckles are turning white from the strain. A plane passes overhead. Reinhardt howls – still paralyzed in the spot. Ana gasps when the street light above Reinhardt begins to flicker. For a moment, he’s bathed in darkness. Then, with a click and a crackling hum, the bulb comes back to life. That flashbulb sight and sound, the alien noise, and it clicks with the sniper. A bite of her lip stifles Ana’s frustration, her own sadness, and she huffs a short breath before answering his plea.

“Yes… Yes, Reinhardt. It’s me. I’m not Captain any more. Just Ana. You’re just outside the flat. You’re safe, liebling. You’re safe. Can you walk to me?”

“No--!” Red-faced and bulging, Reinhardt takes a step back partially out of the influence of the streetlight. Something strikes him; he holds his hands out and jerks his head up. His eye is alight, a pinpoint. The wheels are spinning, but Reinhardt isn’t going anywhere. He averts his gaze again, examining the sky and the street. Over, and over through the flickering haze of the street light until he’s stepped back enough to look into the darkness. His eyes close, brow visibly twitching from where Ana is standing. The sight of the man on full alert has driven most of the civilians watching back into their homes. It’s only when he reopens his eyes and peers into the night – his beam of light stable for now, Ana standing like a golden statue in front of him – that he’s able to muster words through the cacophony of his heartbeat.

“It’s safe?” His voice is a croaking whisper, throat strained as he breathes shallow. Ana nods. His arms are quaking.

“Yes, Reinhardt. It’s safe. There is peace now – we were going to make curry tonight. You can get through this, darling. You’re almost home. May I come to you?”

Something, perhaps a sense memory, seems to loosen some of Reinhardt’s strain. Between the electric thrumming of his temples that runs down into his chest like a hot current, he manages to take a long, ragged breath. “Yes… Please,” Reinhardt manages. His shoulders drop a few degrees, his hands nearly touching his sides.

Ana takes it slow. Soft, gentle, obvious steps and slow arm movements. “You’re doing fine… Breathe, love. May I touch you?” She’s near him now, still at arm’s length should his panic set in deeper. Ana is focused now - ignoring the scattering of remaining spectators, eye locked with Reinhardt’s. When she’s able to maintain his eye contact, he’s speaks.

“Yes.”

“Alright. I’m going to take your arm. I would like you to walk with me, and please say stop if you become overwhelmed. Okay, Reinhardt? You’re doing wonderfully. We are safe, my darling.” She scoops up his arm – as tense as it is – in her own. Now they’re making tiny, miniscule steps. Ana hums her approval, feeling Reinhardt’s pulse through the fabric of his shirt. She takes care not to make her own worries known, casts her gaze towards the sidewalk to watch where they’re going and only looking up to spot potential threats. With someone to care for, the thought of taking a mission is a familiar strain. Perhaps a vacation is in order. Or, perhaps… Something in between. Ana Amari has a track record: the push and pull of leaving, returning, duty and restlessness. The turmoil of Reinhardt as her anchor steeps within her.

“Ana…” Reinhardt breathes. His partner barely catches her own name coming off of his lips. She strokes his arm, notices their steps are growing in length.

“Yes, my dear?” She asks.

“I am so sorry.”

Ana looks up, calm veneer finally faltering when she spots the mist in Reinhardt’s eyes. Despondence, exhaustion setting in. She allows herself to breathe a sigh, strokes his arm. Coming back to reality is by no means a return from the woods. “Oh, Reinhardt… This is not your fault, love. Would you like me to put a kettle on when we get back?”

“Mmm.” His shoulders are sloping now. Exhaustion and high alert are keeping him frazzled – perhaps dinner plans will have to change to delivery. Reinhardt leans into Ana, who valiantly pushes back up against him in support. Only a few yards from their building. Even so, it seems like their journey takes hours. Coming back from the front like old times: the battles still remain, memories as tangible as physical scars.

As the two re-enter their sanctuary, the atmosphere seems to lift like a fog. Ana gingerly sits Reinhardt down at the dining table before flitting away to put on the kettle. “How are you feeling, Reinhardt? We’re home safe. I’m putting on some tea – is chamomile okay for you?”

Reinhardt sinks down. He rubs the bridge of his nose, then the deep sockets of his eyes and massages out to his temples. Coming to, still shaking. He grabs the newspaper on the table and rolls it up – just to have something to hold was enough for him. He wrings his hands, carefree of newsprint stains.

“Ah. Yes, please.” He frowns, head throbbing, but kneading the paper settling his breathing. “King’s Row. The – Null Sector massacre. I was back there.”

“Mmm.” Ana crosses back around to him, slips over to a chair and settles herself. She holds her hands up to his, and quietly asks, “May I?”

The paper, now hopelessly crumpled around the middle, is discarded. He folds his hands around Ana’s, and she massages his palm – threads her fingers around his. She brings his huge hands up to her mouth and presses her lips to him, relaxing into him for a long moment. Breathing in, kissing his fingers and knuckles and squeezing him, her nose grazing the back of his hand. She hears him take a long exhale through his nose. “A mission?”

His eyes squeeze shut as she continues to massage his hands, breathing in through his nose – out through his mouth with a slow, uneven rhythm. “Hmm… No. On the streets. A random bombing. When the power surged. And… A wave of Null Sector Units activated.”

Ana hums now, clasping him and pressing more kisses to the back of his hands. She encourages him with her movements to hold her hands, to clutch her, let his energy flow through her. As she does, he opens up. His brows soften, jaw unclenches.

“The commanders, gone. You were in the line of fire. I was alone. I’m not sure… Where my team was. Those noises, the – the Null Sector’s. I was so sure they were back. Like before. Could you…? I…” He pulled her towards him gently. Reinhardt can’t make the words; he uses his body. Hands shivering as they separated from each other, then folding around Ana’s back as she embraces him in turn. One hand laced into his hair, the other across the broad stretch of his back. Kneading, circling. She breathes against him, and Reinhardt sighs against the warm air on his neck and cheek. Ana purrs.

“I’m going to shoot that damn light.”

This elicits a thoughtful sound from Reinhardt. Then, a small hum, something like a breathless laugh. It’s barely audible. Ana can sense everything from the man at this range. She shifts into his lap and Ana is utterly enveloped as his arms wrap around her. They breathe together. Soon, the gentle click of the electric kettle goes unheard as the two hold fast together. With Ana’s gentle melodic hum conducting the resonance of their hearts, the old soldiers settle until their eyelids begin to droop. Coming apart only to slip into their bed, the two retire without dinner, without ceremony, within the warmth of each other’s arms.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to the days of Overwatch, post-Omnic Crisis. Fareeha visits the base, and Ana gets some comfort at the end of the day.
> 
> Note: A little saucy but nothing that slips into the mature zone!

“Darling, this is my good friend Reinhardt. Say hello, Fareeha!”

The young girl (who can’t be a day over than eight), looks up, up, up at the Crusader. Her huge dark eyes widen with wonder, which Reinhardt greets with a deep guffaw.

“Ah! She is lost for words in my presence, Ana! Hello there Fareeha! You look just like your mother.” He takes a knee and reaches down, down, down to take her hand. Even kneeling he seems kilometers away from Ana’s daughter, but he gives her a knightly kiss on the back of her fingers anyway. Fareeha finally breaks from her silence into a giggle.

The three stand and kneel in close quarters - Watchpoint: Gibraltar is as busy as ever, but after such a long and exhausting day the entire base seems to be settling down. And, after the extensive tour of the building, it’s time for Fareeha to settle in for the night.

Ana’s quarters are large. Per her request (and the twisting of one Jack Morrison’s ear), her suite contains a room for herself and one for a particular favored guest. It’s a room that is often multi-purpose - filled with paperwork and machinery - but whenever she has the chance to convert it for Fareeha, Ana makes room. Now, a variety of Overwatch posters hang on the wall - large stuffed animals accompany a pile of pillows on the bed, and a big used pad of markers and paper is strewn on the floor. Pharah is nestled among her animals, sitting on the bed in her bright blue pajama pants and an oversized, standard-issue Overwatch T-Shirt that she asked for with beaming eyes upon sight. She’s been looked well after all day. A tour on Morrison’s shoulders, a game of basketball during lunchtime with Reyes, and an absolutely bubbly interview with Lindholm concerning how ‘cool’ and ‘awesome’ the aerial flight suit prototypes were.

“I know just what’ll tucker you out,” Ana purrs. She leans down, nearly shoulder height with her companion. “Reinhardt is a wonderful storyteller. Would you like him to tell you a bedtime story?”

“Yes! Yes, yes!” Replies the girl, hopping up and down. Her mother laughs and stands right back up. Being at the base was an incredible distraction, after all.

“Alright, then get into bed!”

And so she does, shuffling enthusiastically until her whole body is under the covers. A wreathe of stuffed creatures surround her, and Reinhardt laughs as he rearranges them to be his audience.

“Very well!” He announces. The lights dim, courtesy of Ana in the doorway. She’s watching now, fond. Warmed by the scene taking place. Reinhardt begins.

“...Do you like stories of knights? Justice?”

Blanketed feet-kicking nearly has Ana in stitches. The story begins as Reinhardt lays out the scene… It’s clearly a callback to one of his missions as a Crusader. The man always embellishes, but this time the story is out of this world. Fareeha is captivated. She nods, gasps and hides away. The knight and his liege on a challenging quest. There are dragons, cowboys, love and betrayal. He uses his huge hands for emphasis, volume shifting with each beat of the story. It’s all blurring together for Ana, watching Reinhardt’s large back rise and fall as he shapes his story. Her eyelids are heavy - everything feels heavier after the Crisis. She catches herself leaning a bit too firmly against the doorway as Reinhardt finishes:

“And that liege became a knight… And her name was… Fareeha!”

As Fareeha instantly shrieks in joyful response for an encore, Ana gives her forehead a soft smack. 

“Oh Reinhardt, I thought you’d put her to sleep, not wind her back up! Sweetheart, Mr. Reinhardt has to go now.”

The young girl grasps Reinhardt’s hand with her own, bobbing them up and down as he chuckles along with her. Ana rubs the bottom of her eyelids.

“But mama! Daddy’s picking me up from the plane tomorrow! Just one more story, please?”

A sigh accompanies a sinking feeling in her heart. “Yes, alright… But only one more and then you sleep.” She rises to go give her daughter a kiss, pulling the covers up and giving each of her animals a pat on the head. “Mothers and daughters must go to bed now.”

Reinhardt smiles softly. “I will be brief, darling.”

Flatterer. He holds onto Fareeha’s hands in his own so softly, and looks back to her with eager, gentle eyes. She knows that Torbjorn is a father - his young Brigitte so close in age to Fareeha. But Reinhardt? He must simply be a natural. She listens closely to his tale, focusing now on his expressiveness over the grandioseness of his ability. His heart is open when he tells tales. Fareeha is rapt.

A calming yet intense story - a tale of naval travel across a smooth ocean, with a powerful corsair at the head of the ship. A near miss with the navy, and an act of mercy and charity that saves the corsair’s live. She lives a long, full live - never settling, and sailing the ocean blue. The way he speaks has a certain poetry and repetition to it that has both Amari’s eyes drooping. Eventually, Ana finds her hand tracing over Reinhardt’s back. Soft breaths are barely audible from the still form of her daughter. Ana carefully slips her fingers around his arm; the difficult task of removing herself from her daughter’s side is everpresent. Once the Captain and Lieutenant remove themselves, Ana breathes a tired sigh.

“Ana…” Reinhardt begins. His zeal has softened. As the door to Fareeha’s room clicks shut, Ana senses a hand on her own.

“How are you and Sam?”

The question washes over her. Ana’s jaw tightens as she looks away, then she takes a deep breath. It’s a fresh wound, but she is stronger. “Separated. Fareeha doesn’t know yet that it’s for good.”

“Oh, Ana…”

“It’s been a long time coming,” Ana admits. She finds herself moving close, breathing in Reinhardt’s warmth. Her fingers lace with his. “We’ll move on. It’s on good terms. I just worry about Fareeha.”

Reinhardt chuckles, low and dark. Ana is surprised when he wraps his arm around her and pulls her in. “If I’ve seen anything today, Fareeha will be just fine. You are raising her beautifully!”

She’s in his embrace now, heat rising in her cheeks. Ana shifts her arms to wrap around his chest. Reinhardt smells like a fresh shower. She buries into him, realizing now how exhausted she is when she lingers long enough for even the Crusader to truly register the long lull. He hesitates - for a moment uncertain - and then his chest lifts with a heavy breath and he separates from her… Just a couple of inches. His hands slide down to her waist.

“If there is anything I can do…” Reinhardt begins, and trails off abruptly. Ana is pulling him down by his neckline, wrapping her fingers around his neck and behind his head, combing through his hair as her lips meet his.

They float for a dreamlike moment. Reinhardt pushes in, strengthening his grip, shifting Ana’s hips towards his. Her lips part; she closes the gap, breathes a sigh into him. That damn soapy scent fills her and Ana shifts her weight. She’s heading down the hall. As she opens her eyes, she meets his. Both heavy with want and smoke, the same feeling deep in her gut. As soon as the door to her room clicks shut, she’s pushed against it. Ana grapples against Reinhardt.

The two entangle, break apart and clash back together with soft moans and wandering touches. Breathless. Ana finds herself pressed to her mattress, fingertips exploring the firm muscle under Reinhardt’s shirt, temperature rising. It’s only when she feels the button on her slacks being tampered with that she’s shocked into reality. She hesitates.

“Ana?”

Reinhardt’s breath is against her neck. He can feel her pulse beating hard, and immediately leans to the side to give her space. As Ana falls silent, Reinhardt rolls to the side - but she grabs his hand. “Oh, Reinhardt…” Her voice is choked.

“Ana… It’s alright, liebling.”

She folds an elbow over her eyes. The exhale she releases has a shudder to it. “Ah… Reinhardt, I need to take a cold shower.” She laughs under her arm, the sound muffled. Bittersweet. “I can’t do this… Not just yet.”

Immediately, Reinhardt joins her. He squeezes her hand, and she returns the sentiment by tracing his palm.

“If you need… I can head out, Ana.”

“No,” She responds. Her fingers rethread with his, locking them together. “I think... I could use the company tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I love these two ;u;


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